A New Year
by Dodger Gilmore
Summary: New Year's Eve during DH, visiting a few characters as they prepare to face the new year. To be continued.
1. The Burrow

**A/N: **I know I should probably not be starting something new instead of updating the four stories (how did they become that many?) I already have and am neglecting horribly. But I got inspired, and well… I'm not sure how long this will go on for. Might not be more than two chapters (I've already gotten started on the second, so expect a quick update for that at least)… Might be more. Depends on time, inspiration – and, of course, if anyone's interested in reading more of this. So, as the title implies, this is a New Year's story. Set during DH. If you've got any other requests for whose New Year's Eve you'd like to read about that year (except the trio, because I don't think they even knew it was New Year's and I therefore am not sure when to place it during their timeline), just let me know, okay?

_**The Burrow**__**: **__Ginny Weasley_

Ginny hadn't cried during Christmas. Not while her mother had been constantly wiping her eyes at her apron, believing that nobody would notice, while they all pointedly looked away – as much for their own sakes as hers. Not while Ron's, Bill's, Charlie's – hell, even Percy's – absence was screaming at them from every bloody corner of every bloody room, mocking their feeble attempts at smiles and normalcy.

Ginny didn't shed one single tear at Christmas. For her mum's sake, who needed them to put up a Christmas Tree and eat a Christmas meal and give each other presents, just because - well, Ginny wasn't exactly sure what _was_ the point when none of them could forget the wrongness of it all for even a second, but she knew that her mum wasn't to argue with these days. So she did it. For the twins' sakes too, actually. Because they were trying a lot harder than her to keep the spirit in the house up, and she was convinced only she perceived how much strength it took for them to do it. And she was definitely sure that she was the only one who knew that one sign of wavering façade from her, and they would break too, harder than anyone who'd seen their seemingly light grins could have imagined.

But Christmas was over now, and before she could even take a breath, it was time to celebrate New Year's Eve.

Her parents were off to Diagon Alley, to collect the fireworks they were to use at midnight from Fred and George's shop. Despite the twins' protests, they had not been allowed to go themselves.

"But it's _our_ shop!" Fred had protested indignantly.

"And we know where to find the best ones, so it'd be much quicker if we went, really. Honestly, Mum! It'd even be safer!" George tried.

"Well, if you know where they are, then you might as well tell your father and me, won't you? _No_, Fred, don't look at me like that. You two are staying put. End of discussion."

With that, she had gone, taking her husband with her after he had cast an apologizing glance at his sons, leaving them to mutter angrily about a hysterical mother who treated them as four-year-olds.

Ginny, however, knew what her mother was thinking. The twins had been itching to get out of the house all Christmas break, and she was afraid they'd do something radical. Like not coming back for a few more hours than they said to do. Perhaps meeting up with Lee, going for a drink. Causing their mother to completely freak out, imagining all the horrific scenes of battles and ambushes that could have played out.

But Ginny also knew that had their mother confessed this concern to her sons, they were old enough to listen and then take care to not do as she feared.

She also suspected strongly that the twins would not have stayed away longer than what could be plausible for the actual trip anyway. They knew their mother, and they would not have done anything to increase her worries.

However, Ginny suspected they would have liked a few moments of privacy with only each other, to allow themselves a break from their constant stream of joking and laughing. She supposed her mother didn't see how much energy it was draining from them as well as she did.

But, if her mother wouldn't give them that opportunity, Ginny would do her best to keep out of their way. Hence, she left the still scolding Fred and muttering George to the kitchen and crept out into the snow-covered garden. Frankly, she wouldn't mind a few moments of letting the façade slip herself.

She made sure that she was out of sight from every window by settling herself behind the broom shed. Not that she thought her brothers would be looking out at her at this very moment, but still, it was necessary to take precautions. She would not have them worrying about her now, interrupting their moment of peace. No way. She was a much better sister than that.

Leaning her head against the icy wood, she felt her knees slowly buckling. She almost laughed to herself as she heard her mother's voice in her head, reprimanding her for sitting down in the snow, telling her she'd get sick. Like before the time came when no one worried about catching a little insignificant cold anymore. Ginny didn't care. Hell, it might even be nice to get a valid excuse for not participating in every damn Weasley holiday tradition where each task that was supposed to have been performed by someone who was absent caused a hard pang in her heart. Those would be quite nice to live without, really.

Plus, maybe a nice fever would fog up her brain significantly enough to make it stop rolling little films of death and destruction and way too happy memories in front of her eyes, every second she got to herself.

_Harry's eyes lighting up when she told him it ought to be possible for him to talk to Sirius, that tiny glimmer of hope and satisfaction; he had told her, and no one else... Ron pointedly hinting that she should get together with someone _better_ next time… Ron warning her not to snog Harry in public, being a big brother… Ron's hesitant hand on her arm the night Dumbledore and Bill… But no, not that, not now. The feeling of Harry's eyes at her across the common room, in the air, the Great Hall, everywhere. The feeling of his strong arms finally around her, his lips, finally against hers. His lips, his lips, his hands, and it was night and they had sneaked out and she was on top of the whole world, like nothing could ever hurt them again, and then the sun was glistening in his hair and she ran her fingers through it and he closed his eyes and her lips softly pecked his and they were in her room and her bed was so close and he was so close and she couldn't breathe and she knew she shouldn't, but not one inch of her body cared about that because he was there and his breath was hot in her mouth and his hand was sliding down her back and she melted, she was nothingness, she was him, she was lips and hands and him…_

The owl pecked its beak to get her attention, causing a literally frosty return to reality. Barely taking notice of the warm saltiness on her cheeks, she automatically relieved the owl of its note. It had flown away before her stiff fingers had gotten it open to read.

_Hey Gin,  
Everything's fine here. Gran's cooking for about 20 for tonight, even though it's just the two of us. Hope you're having a nice New Year's. See you soon!_

_Neville  
__P.S. No news about her yet, is there?_

She knew that they weren't supposed to tell each other anything real through owl post, since everything they said that meant anything could be used against them. Still, by now she almost didn't see the point in writing small talk, when the obvious only gist was: _I'm still alive, how about you?_

Well, at least _he_ was still alive. The confirmation was always nice. Bill had sent a letter this morning. Charlie hadn't yet, and she had to close her eyes against more warmth as she attempted to convince herself that she _knew _he'd be busy and that Romania _was_ safer than England, and he should be just fine (and not start to imagining dragons, remembering Horntails and blood and…).

Her other two brothers didn't send any letters. Obviously. And she truly wanted to hate the both of them for it. She had, for a while, hated at least one of them. She would now too, if she had had hate to spare for anyone but Death Eaters and You-Know-Who. And the other one (her favourite, he always had been, but she had never told him) – well, the less she thought about him this way and not by remembering blissful times with him and the other man (the man that she loved), the better.

With a hard jolt, she read Neville's P.S. again. _No news about her yet, is there? _His tone was casual, but she knew him better than that. Luna's capture had destroyed him. He was reading every inch of every paper to find any news of her. Ginny probably should be doing that too, but she couldn't bear it. She knew that the important news would get to her anyway. (Neither her mother or father had missed to read a single Prophet at least twice this year.)

Somehow, Luna's capture had broken Ginny too. She had thought, during the whole semester, that nothing except the actual confirmed death of someone she loved could bring her down further. That another disappearance wouldn't really matter _that_ much, because she already had so many people to worry about and miss, that one more wouldn't really make a difference. Of course, she had never _really_ believed that, but she had after a while almost managed to convince herself.

Obviously, she had now been proved thoroughly wrong. She had counted on Luna to be there, always. Luna, who was always close to a smile, despite any circumstances, but whose small hand was always there to pat Ginny's shoulder when she needed it.

Luna was supposed to be there. Luna wasn't supposed to be gone, kidnapped, perhaps even… But _no_. Luna was not the kind of person who died. She was too – innocent, maybe? Kind? Odd? Alive?

It didn't matter. Luna was just not the kind of person who died.

Ginny swallowed hard, wiping frustratingly at her chin where the wetness was starting to freeze. Rummaging through her pockets, she realized that she hadn't a quill on her, and would have to get inside to answer Neville's letter with a few cheery lines, telling him nothing else than that she was alive too. If she didn't do it soon, he'd worry. She hated the thought of Neville worrying about her too, on top of everything else.

_And there it was, Neville's widened eyes as she told him with high-pitched panic that Luna was gone, Neville's half-sob as he asked her if she was sure, Neville's closed eyes as she nodded, Neville's silence for the rest of the journey, Neville's tight, distracted hug as they parted, the gleam in his eyes as he let go, the tug in his lip, as though…_

"Gin? Hey, Gin? _Ginny_!"

Shit. Ginny quickly stuffed her fist in her mouth, cursing herself for not even having noticed the loudness of her sobs (well, really, she hadn't even registered that she was crying, even if it didn't come as a surprise either). It was too late, though. Seconds later, two identical faces popped up around the corner of the broom shed, looking highly concerned.

"There you are," Fred panted with a reproaching tone. "You could've answered, you know."

George, however, looked even more frightened as he stared at her, taking in her wet face and body. "Godric, Gin, you're soaked. How long have you been sitting here?"

She shrugged. She honestly had no idea. She hadn't even noticed before now that her legs were barely movable, and aching with cold.

"Hey, you okay?" Fred asked now, his voice a lot softer as he too took in her continued stream of tears (and that unusual fact that she didn't even bother to wipe them away).

"Something happen?" George asked, suddenly sharp.

She hurried to shake her head. She didn't miss the exchanged glance of relief, before her brothers simultaneously reached down, grabbed one of her arms each and pulled her to her feet, holding on when they felt her stiff legs collapsing beneath her.

Half-lifting, half-leading her, they got her into the house, ignoring her feeble protests.

Once they had put her down in front of the fire, she mumbled, "You d-didn't h-have t-to do th-that. I'm fine. You – I was trying to give you a-a b-break."

Fred almost smiled. "Gin, for once, even you honestly _can't_ pretend that you're fine. You were bawling your eyes out and freezing half to death."

George didn't smile. "And, plus, we're your big brothers. We're supposed to do this."

Fred nodded. "Don't worry 'bout us, okay?"

"Godric knows you've – well, helped us, a few times," George added, his gaze intent in hers, and she knew the events he was referring to. Lost ears and poisoned brothers were in the faded eyes of all three of them for a moment before Fred continued, with an attempt at cheeriness.

"And you're just our little sis'. We're supposed to take care of you, you know. Which I'm going to do right now by getting you a nice, huge cup of hot chocolate, okay?"

She nodded, biting her teeth together to keep them from trembling visibly. George probably saw this anyway, and while Fred bustled about in the kitchen, his hand was put on her shoulder, a few tears escaping her closed eyes at the touch. "Hey," he said, even closer and softer than before. "It's okay, you know. Even if you don't want Mum seeing you like this – you can always come to us, all right? Promise?"

Because his eyes were so sincere in her swollen ones, she nodded, while knowing fully well that this was a promise she did not plan to keep.


	2. Shell Cottage

**A/N: **Wanted to post this before I go away tomorrow. First time I tried on Fleur's accent. I've been wanting to write her and Bill for ages, but I've never had the guts. So, my apologies for her accent. I hope it's readable anyway. (And, yes, I know this is kind of a cheat as a lot of it doesn't even take place during New Year's, but I realized when I had already planned that scene that Ron would not still be at Shell Cottage for New Year's, so it had to be this way instead.) Hope it's okay. Let me know what you think.

_**Shell Cottage**__**: **__Bill Weasley_

"Eet ees better thees way, you know." Bill almost jumped at his wife's warm hand grasping his shoulder. He hadn't heard her coming, too lost in dark thoughts.

"What is?" he asked, but her raised eyebrows told him that there was no point in pretending she didn't already know. She always knew. He was beginning to learn that. "And _how_ exactly is this better? Is it better that my kid brother is off, facing who knows what bloody dangers, when he could still be here, _safe_? I mean, he wasn't even with Harry when he got caught by Snatchers. Now, he'll either be alone and stupid_ again_, or he'll be with the most wanted wizard in the country. Great odds on that, isn't it?" he snapped, then buried his face in his hands, not able to face the sympathy in Fleur's eyes. "He's just a kid, dammit. He's not ready for this. Hell, I'm not even sure _I'm_ ready for this, and Ron… he's barely of age, you know."

"I know," Fleur said simply, putting her arms back around his shoulders, pressing her body up against his. "But, eet ees better. For 'im. 'Ee needs to be with 'is friends. 'Ee was miserable without zem. You know zat."

Bill did know. Even though he now missed Ron's presence with every bone in his body, he could not deny that his brother had been a pretty dreadful houseguest. From the moment he'd arrived, he'd been either sulky and quiet or furious and snapping at whoever dared approach him close enough to give him the opportunity. Bill had attempted to be understanding. After hearing about what Ron had done, seeing the shame and guilt eating him up – well, Bill was prepared to take a lot. However, when Ron had sent Fleur to tears one night, he'd had it. He'd yelled at him, in a way he was ashamed to remember now. Of course, Ron had apologized to both him and Fleur the next morning, but still… He was gone now, and Bill might never see him again. And what if the last thing he'd remember about him would be the way he had sworn at him to get a grip because he was not the only one worrying…?

"You theenking about Christmas Eve?" Fleur whispered sympathetically, her warm breath tickling his cheek, at the same time as her words caused a chill to run down his spine. Christmas Eve. No. He had actually not been thinking about that. He was now, though. And switching his memory lane to that night didn't do anything to improve his spirits.

-

"_Bill, we 'ave to send somezing to your muzzer. She wrote again zis morning, asking us if we could not come around for dinner, at least."_

"_I know," he sighed, rubbing his temples, unwillingly glancing at Ron, who was sitting in a corner, staring unseeingly ahead, wishing for the umpteenth time that he'd just let them tell the others that he was there, so that they could all go over there. But, no matter how much Bill tried, Ron was still wholeheartedly convinced that both the twins and Ginny would despise him for what he had done, and could not be persuaded to believe that they would be too relieved to find him alive to care. _

"_We better send ze presents too," Fleur went on, as she stood by the stove, stirring some pot while keeping an eye on the turkey roasting in the oven. "Ron, you are sure you do not want to sign your name to somezing?"_

"'_Course I'm sure," he growled. "I'm supposed to be off, aren't I? No one expects a present from me, and they sure as hell won't know that I've gone and…" _

_He stopped himself, looking horror-struck for a moment. Then his scowl was back on, and he muttered something incoherently before storming out the front door and slamming it hard behind him. _

_Fleur was at Bill's side in a second, looking frightened. "I am so sorry, Bill. Shall I go after 'im?"_

_He shook his head, dragging his hand across his face once more before rising. "No. I better deal with this. It's not your fault," he added at her miserable expression. "Really." He planted a quick kiss on her lips and forced a smile. "And, besides, you have a turkey to get back to, haven't you? And you know how lousy I am at cooking."_

"_I do," she whispered, with a small smile. "Fine. I'll take care of ze turkey, and you'll…"_

"_Yeah," he nodded, carefully keeping the exhaustion out of his voice._

_Ron wasn't difficult to find. He never had been very talented at hide and seek when they were younger. Before Ginny had been old enough to play, they'd all assumed it was just because he was the youngest, but as soon as she joined, she was beating him and they all realized that he was merely truly lousy._

"_Ron…" he said to the shape of his brother that was all he could make out in the darkness. _

_He received no response whatsoever. Steeling himself, Bill attempted to slump down next to him. However, he didn't make out the icy surface before he had already stepped on it, and tripped. Luckily, he just landed pretty hard on his back and hand, and didn't slip further down the cliff. Before he could breathe out in relief, Ron's face was close to his, his hand grabbing his shoulder, as to prevent him from starting to glide away. _

"_What the hell are you doing?" he demanded sharply, but as he spoke, Bill could make out his features softening. "You all right?"_

"_Yeah," Bill panted, trying to ignore the pulsing pain in his right hand that he was sure he had cut pretty badly on the rock. He finally had Ron's attention, in a more unguarded way he had had since he'd gotten here. He would not lose that for a stupid little cut. "How about you?"_

"'_M fine," Ron mumbled, but his tone was neither very convincing nor hostile this time._

"_Ron… come on." Bill didn't really expect simply pleading to have any effect – it never had before – but he was to be surprised. _

_A few more seconds of silence passed, in which Bill felt his throbbing hand more clearly than ever. He was thankful that Ron could not make out his face, and therefore did not notice his slight grimacing. _

"_I let them down." Ron's voice was suddenly different, vulnerable, small, almost inaudible. "I promised him I'd always be there, and her… I let them – and I didn't mean – I didn't think – I didn't realize I wouldn't be able to, y'know, get back. I was supposed to get back, but then those Snatchers – and it was too…"_

_Bill wanted to speak. He wanted to say something about how he was sure Harry and Hermione would understand, would know that it had just been a moment of anger, and that they would forgive him for snapping as soon as they met again. Because it was all empty words, wasn't it? It wasn't even likely that Ron would ever see his two best friends again, and they both knew it. There were no words. _

_Instead, he tentatively put his uninjured hand on Ron's shoulder, hoping desperately that he would not be shaken off. Ron shuddered for a moment at the touch, and then, almost automatically it seemed, he inched away from it. Not very harshly, but it was enough for Bill to, again, lose his balance, causing his injured hand to slip from his lap and onto the rock as he tried to regain it. Unwillingly, a gasp escaped his lips at the sharp sting that shot up his arm. _

"_You're not really okay, are you?" Ron's voice was concerned again, the vulnerability gone. "What happened?"_

_Bill cursed himself inwardly, but knew that there was no use pretending now. "I – I just cut my hand a bit on the rock. No matter. I'll get Fleur to check it out later, but there's no rush," he said, in one last attempt to keep Ron where he was, with him, and not alone in his room, tearing himself up with all the thinking and worrying. _

_But Ron was firm. "Hell no. You _never_ admit to being hurt, not even when you'd bloody broken your leg, because you didn't want Charlie to feel guilty for having talked you into climbing that tree with him. We're going inside, now."_

_Bill had no choice but to obey, and, as he had known, the minute Fleur had fixed his broken wrist after a moment of muttering spells mixed with reproachful words of how he should be more careful, Ron had only paused to gruffly question again that Bill was fully fine, and then he had been up the stairs, out of reach. _

_-_

"Bill, you couldn't 'ave stopped 'im," Fleur went on, her fingers running soothingly through his hair. "'Ee needed to be with 'is friends, and you couldn't 'ave said anyzing to stop him if 'ee 'ad found a way to get to zem."

"But what if he hadn't?" Bill protested, the anxious suspicion threatening to overwhelm him that had been haunting him ever since Christmas morning when his brother's bed had been found empty; that Ron might have finally crossed the line of desperation enough to attempt finding his friends without knowing how to do it. They had searched everywhere, but had, by the time night fell, been forced to conclude that Ron had left them. However, they could not be sure if he, in his frantic attempts to find his friends, were being as careful as was necessary if he were to avoid…

"'Ee weell be okay. 'Ee knows 'ow to look after 'imself."

Bill didn't answer, and she stroked his chin softly. "Come on, let's get some Firewhiskey," she whispered in his ear. "I zink we need zat."

"Yeah," he agreed hoarsely.

"Plus, we need to celebrate our first New Year as a married couple, do we not?" she breathed against his lips. She deepened the kiss, and he knew that she was merely trying to provide a distraction, to make him forget. He knew that it wouldn't actually fix anything, but he also saw no reason not to let himself be swept away by her soft touches and intoxicating scent. There was nothing else he could do now, anyway. And, plus, they did need to celebrate the start of their first full year as a married couple. (There was a saying, wasn't it, that the way you started the new year was the way you'd end it? He'd started the last one kissing her. If he started this one the same way, maybe that would somehow make sure he still had her there to kiss by the end of it? He needed to believe that, so he made sure to kiss her, just as Fleur smiled softly and whispered, "I zink eet ees midnight".)


	3. Malfoy Manor

**A/N: **I'm sorry for the delay. And I'm even more sorry that I can't even say whether I will be able to continue this or not. I have ideas, which I am hoping to get written, but I don't think I'll be doing this story in May, so… We'll just have to see. But if some of you are interested in this, and I get some time before the new year has gone on too long, I should be able to fit in at least a couple of more chapters here.

_**Malfoy Manor: **__Luna Lovegood_

She has stopped counting the days. She attempted it at first. She's not sure why. Maybe it gave her a false sense of something like control. Maybe it just gave her something to do, to fight for. And she needed _something_.

By Christmas Eve, she still had some sense of night and day, of when she was supposed to sleep and not. But that wasn't the only reason why she knew. Additionally, there had been that heavy, metallic feeling in the pit of her stomach that rose when she saw it so clearly in front of her, almost tangible; her father, trembling violently, staring at their undecorated Christmas Tree. She could see it, feel it. She had never spent a Christmas without him before.

By now, though, she has lost track. There has been too many times of her just putting her head down and awakening, not having any idea if she has been gone for two minutes or twelve hours.

Ollivander isn't much help, either. He's long since given up. Not just on keeping track of the time, but he's given up period. The first few days, he was mostly staring at the wall, silently, or dozing off, and she had been sure that he'd be of no use for company whatsoever. To keep herself from crying audibly from the panicking, heart-constricting fear (not that she imagined he'd even notice), she focused on counting. Seconds, minutes, hours. And days.

It wasn't much, but it was the only thing that she could think to do to keep her mind from wandering to her father's loneliness (and what they could do to him, now, if he tried to get her back, as she _knew_ he would not be smart enough to restrain himself from), Neville's soft kisses (and his hand in hers and his eyes that glittered more than she knew he wanted her to ever acknowledge, his hand that gripped hers and _needed_ her), the new hollow darkness behind Ginny's eyes (and Luna couldn't stand the thought that she would now have worsened her spirits even further by abandoning her too)…

But, after what she had estimated to be four days, she had realized that it wouldn't do to not even try to get to know the only company she was presented with (except for the occasional food deliveries from a white Draco Malfoy who refused to look at her). So she tried. Ollivander was hesitant at first. Well, more defeated than anything. And exhausted. But when he didn't have the strength, she started talking to him anyway. She tells him about everything she can think of, every bedtime story that her mother made up, every creature that she knows exists even if everyone isn't open-minded enough to realize it. She makes sure to stay clear of any sensitive, too personal subjects, though. She tells herself it is for his sake – that this would be no way to improve his spirits. But, really, it is more because she doesn't trust herself to speak of her loved ones. If she doesn't speak their names out loud, she can at least pretend that she's not spending every moment swallowing the fear that rises inside her every time it hits her that she's not _there_ anymore. When she was there, she didn't know if they were all going to go on being fine, but she could almost live with that. She lived in the now, and they were there with her. Now, she doesn't even know if they are alive, and even if they are, she's not there to witness or enjoy it.

Awakening her from her half-sleeping state of misery, the one they refer to as Wormtail enters, leering, with a refill of fresh water.

"Happy New Year, isn't it?" he snarls, chuckling at his own joke, locking the door without waiting for an answer.

So, it's New Year's Eve. Has it really been that long? (Maybe she should be glad she has lost track of the days.)

Mr Ollivander speaks her thoughts, sighing. "New Year. It's been _that_ long now, then."

"Yes," she whispers, swallowing away the wetness. She needs to be strong for him. By this account, she has barely been here two weeks. She can't compare with him, even if she too is starting to forget what sunshine looks like. "But it's a new year soon, then, Mr Ollivander." She forces a smile into her voice, and even though she knows he can't actually see her, she's sure he can tell that it's not real. "Maybe this year, someone will come for us. Or it will all end, somehow."

"How?" His question is sceptical.

"Harry Potter. He's doing something. He's trying. And – he's my friend. I know he'll do it, Mr Ollivander. It might take a bit of time, but he'll do it. And maybe this is the year for that. We have to believe that."

"Do we?"

She closes her eyes against the doubt in his voice. "Yes, Mr Ollivander. We do have to believe that." She lets out a breath, waits a moment for a reply she knows won't come. "I never did tell you about the Loser's Lurgy, did I, Mr Ollivander?"

There's a definite relief in him at the change of subject. "No, Luna, you didn't."

"Well, when you're playing Quidditch and you keep dropping the Quaffle for no obvious reason, you might be suffering from it. I am sure that I witnessed it last year in a Hufflepuff student called Zacharias Smith. He's not a very nice person, though. He never did listen to me when I tried to warn him about Nargles in the mistletoes."


End file.
